One More Empty Shell
by so lost so broken
Summary: Everyone knows how much Dally cares for Johnny. How he looks out for him and tries to keep him safe out of harms way. But what would become of Johnny if Dallas Winston was never in the picture at all?


**Hey guys! This is a one shot that has been kicking around in my head for a while now and I thought I'd submit it. Please read and review! Give me feedback and constructive criticism! It all helps! Thanks!**

**Oh, and I don't own the outsiders. Although Id love it if I did...**

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><p>Your fuckin' 16 years old and you still can't stand up for yourself to save your own soul. If you could, you'd be outa there faster than the blink of an eye. But no. You just sit there and take it. Not like a man, like a coward. You must like it when they beat you. The adrenaline that courses through your body while they "teach you a lesson" must all go straight to your brain cuz' you don't do a damn thing about it. You just lay there and let them vandalize your body with bloody fingernails and half broken bottles, leaving behind trails of bruises and broken bones.<p>

You've given up on screaming, calling for help. Nobody seems to hear you. Not friends. Not family. Like your family would help you anyways. After all, you were just another pathetic screw up for the world to carry as dead weight on its shoulders. They had told you many times before.

You almost smile as the punches to your gut and face increase in tempo. After all, why should you be scared of them? You should be use to them by now. Its been happening for years, weather its at home or in an alley somewhere. You should become numb to it all eventually. It's been long enough.

You're such a mess that you don't even own one shirt that doesn't have blood stains on the front. You'd looked at new ones in the windows of stores but you didn't dare go inside. One look at you and they'd laugh you outa town. The clothes inside were more expensive than your life was worth.

Your friends. You'd stumble to their house sometimes just so you wouldn't have to go back home to face another round of drunken beatings by your father. They'd all look at you, casting one another guilty glances as they tried helping you somehow. Fixing up your face, giving you a different tee-shirt too wear for the night. They just felt sorry for you. You were just one more burden on their shoulders that they didn't have time for. Thats why most nights you slept in that god-for-saken lot. The air always held a slight smell of lilacs and dead animal. The combination of the two always made your stomach clench until vomit would intrude your mouth and spill down your lips and chin, making you roll over and violently heave the rest onto the ground beside you.

You secretly wished that there was a way out of it all. You couldn't take it all much longer. You had always talked about killing yourself. There was nobody to stop you. You might shoo the thoughts away if there was somebody there for you. Just someone who would make living a bit more bearable. Maybe even someone who could protect you in some odd way. From the beatings, the world, everything.

Somebody like Dallas Winston. Only you don't know someone named Dallas Winston. The name is unfamiliar to your lips. For all you knew, he wasn't even a real person. But he was. Was. The day he was suppose to move to your neighborhood, he was shot dead by a police officer due to mistaken identity. You never got to meet each other. Your paths never got to cross.

It wasn't suppose to happen. He was suppose to make it to Tulsa. He would have been the reason you lived. The reason you wouldn't get the shit beat from you nearly as much. He would have been like your own guardian angel. Any thoughts of you killing yourself and he would have talked some sense into you in that gentle but commanding voice that only you would have been able to hear. He would have given you a place to stay every night. He wouldn't have let you go hungry or go without clean clothes. He would have brought you to the store, even if you needed to be dragged by your feet, just so he could get you what you needed.

He would have been real gentle with ya. The one who would understand you just as much as you would understand him. The one who would love you more than anyone else would.

But you would never know that.

All you knew was pain and the faint feelings of a numbness seeping into your bones.

Numbness you felt at this exact moment while the coppery taste of blood was filling your mouth to the brim. You tried speaking as they dragged your limp body off into someplace with a bunch of trees, but all that came out was a gurgling noise as you slowly choked to death on your own blood. Your vision was already dimming as they dumped your body to the ground and gave you a few more kicks.

You watched them with your one good eye that wasn't quite swollen yet. You watched their retreating forms as they disappeared from sight, not caring what they had just done.

One lone tear traveled down your face as your bloody body lay there immobile and unable to speak. You couldn't blame them. It wasn't their fault that you were so damn pathetic. You didn't even have the right to be called a greaser. Greasers were tough as nails, never let anything get to their heads.

No sir. You were just a coward. A coward who's blood was leaking out of every open gash on his body, taking pleasure in the fact that it was killing you.

_Dally would have never let this happen._

You try to suck in oxygen to your lungs who are desperately screaming for air, but you can't. You choke on your own blood until your too weak to put up a fight anymore. With one last tear sliding down your cheek, you let go. Let go of the last thread of life that was connecting your worthless body to the earth.

As the moonlight shines down on your dead body, a dozen night birds sing a haunting melody. A song of the dead. One more empty shell. All because of you.

After all, you were fuckin' 16 years old and you still couldn't stand up for yourself to save your own soul.

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><p><strong>Im just going to admitt that it was kinda hard for me to write that. Johnny is my favorite character and Dallas is my second favorite, so I kinda feel guilty for killing dear Johnny. I hope you can forgive me buddy! Anywho, now that you've read it, please review it! Thank you!<strong>


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